Morphine for the Soul
by WasianGal
Summary: Alex hasn't left Tommy's side since his rescue at the Mole. He's not ready to let go of this stranger turned security blanket...even if they are momentarily safe in the arms of England.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: Alex hasn't left Tommy's side since his rescue at the Mole. He's not ready to let go of this stranger turned security blanket...even if they are momentarily safe in the arms of England._

 _Author's Note: I don't own or profit on anything Dunkirk related. This is merely inspirations from a woman who squinted to find some brotherly love throughout the movie and came up with her own angsty ideas for this special pair of strangers after the film._

 _This story takes place that first night after they arrive off the train._

 _Finally, some mild PTSD/War Trauma scenes and brief language will appear, just to caution._

 _Morphine for the Soul_

...

Nobody misses the sound of a plane flying overhead at approximately 2:15am.

Not a single soldier lying in the bunkers is able to keep from startling in their sleeping bags because of it.

As the roaring sound grows more and more distant, hearts calm and soon everyone in the cramped space settles back down to sleep.

All but one...

Alex has pressed himself into the nearest corner of the wall, five feet from his pillow...five _measly_ feet from where Tommy still snores next to him in his own tattered army pallet.

Every part of him wants to bolt back to the safety of his own cocoon...back beside the only familiar face left from the beaches of horror.

 _Tommy..._

There was something absolutely safe about the other boy, as if he had a much better chance of living if he kept him close...

But five feet was still five feet. It only took that much of a distance to kill you at Dunkirk.

The thought makes him press his back harder into the corner, unaware of the protests of his spine through the thin fabric of his shirt.

 _No way out._

 _No bloody way out._

A second plane flies over; lower this time.

 _Closer...closer...too close!_

Even as Alex tells himself it's not a kraut engine, his feet bolt on their own, hands feeling the walls for support before he's tripping and scrambling over the sleeping forms of soldiers.

They're dead. They're all dead. He knows it. He remembers it. He still smells it.

He reaches another wall and can't find the door, not even a window to climb out of.

 _Trapped!_

"Help! Somebody help me!"

His fists bang on any surface they find, wood from the side panels splinter his fingers as he scrapes around for escape.

Water rushes around his ankles in the next moment and a scream tears from his throat.

"I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!"

Big hands whirl him around so suddenly that he's dizzy even before they violently shake him.

He can almost feel the blow to his cheek and the blood that forms at the corner of his mouth. The iron taste of it only drives him more mad.

"Stop! Wait!"

 _Tommy's voice_.

Even as another blow strikes him in the gut, he hopes it really is him, cause he's good and ready to lose it if not.

"Give him a moment, for goodness sake! He's chokin'."

Alex wonders if the voice is talking about him. His green eyes search around the darkness frantically for something tangible to prove that Tommy was here...that he wasn't just a stiff corpse like the rest of his mates.

"You best shut him up or I will." Someone says in the darkness beside him.

"Alright! Alright! Just...please, give us a moment."

There's no doubting it now. Tommy's here.

Alex feels thin fingers grab the sleeves of his oil stained thermal just as his eyes begin to focus.

"Throw me his bedroll. That one over there, mate, yeah." Tommy continues, as he tries to ease his new comrade to the floor.

But Alex isn't having it. There is no way he's letting his guard down, even for this lucky charm of a soldier.

Legs kick in a manic fashion as he tries to loose himself from being restrained, but Tommy soon gets help from some of the other soldiers in the vicinity.

Alex knows Tommy needs the help, because if it were one against the other, he would have flattened him like a bloody crepe by now.

"I don't wanna die," he says with watery, trembling lips. "I can't. I can't."

"Nobody's gonna die, mate."

"They're gonna bomb us again! I hear em' up there."

"Shhh. Just our boys, mate. 'S just us." Tommy's so sure as he speaks it.

How can he even trust a hope after all the death he's just witnessed?

"...Mum." Alex whispers, and the shame of that one, single word is enough to ruin any last shred of dignity he has, but he can't stop it from trickling from his mouth. It's easier to say the second time, and by the fourth, he's actually calling it out. He's now convinced himself that she'll come if he shouts it loud enough.

It doesn't matter that she's dead and buried...that he hasn't seen her face in over a year...that he would be bullied for this in the morning. He's too swept up in panic to notice.

A hand suddenly stifles his lips from continuing on as an ironic mixture of gentle shushing and angry voices compete for the same prize: his silence.

For a brief moment, he tries. He really does make an effort, but he's already been so damn selfish already, so why on Earth should he stop now?

That poor frog... _Gibson_...he was ready to sacrifice him without a second thought, so eager to save his own skin while so easily dismissing the other boy to the cold depths of the ocean.

Coward didn't begin to describe how he truly felt inside.

He was nothing like Tommy...

Tommy...the bloody saint.

He read something far greater in the eyes of the lanky soldier.

It was something he craved and needed...something that he couldn't begin to understand.

Was it stability? A foundation? Where did he get it from? The other boy may as well have been guarded by angelic beings.

"I think he's good. Ease up," He hears Tommy whisper after what feels like an eternity.

As his wide eyes finally come into focus, he really hopes they stay that way this time. He feels Tommy's hand rise from his swollen, tear streaked face as the other soldiers let go of him as well.

Has he been restrained to the floor this entire time? He glances around at five different silhouettes, before resting on the only face he knows...who hovers over him like some filthy, skinny cur.

"You're okay. You're alright." Tommy says.

Alex wants to scream back every obscenity he can think of, but his body's gone mute without his permission.

 _'Leave me!'_ he wants to say.

But he's too tired to be anxious anymore...too exhausted to even try to protest when Tommy loosens the top two buttons of his shirt...too weak to slap away the warm rag that wipes off the grime, blood, dirt and salt from his neck and cheeks.

"No shame, mate. You just got a bit spooked."

He hates the way Tommy's words affect him. He despises the sobs that force and rip their way out of him just because of someone else's empathy.

If he was already reduced to such a pathetic heap, he would never make it through this war.

Somebody throws another bedroll at Tommy's head, and the dumb blighter simply thanks the man who delivered it in such a rude fashion.

"The shakes will stop," Tommy tells Alex, not missing a beat.

The Raven haired boy smooths out the other bedroll and pauses a moment to observe that the other soldiers have all hunkered down again for the night.

When Alex locks eyes with him again, there's a question in Tommy's stare.

He's asking permission.

 _'Can I help you?'_

He can't explain how he knows this, but his quiet peer is awaiting an equally silent response.

Alex can feel his chest rising and falling faster and faster at the idea of giving in to comfort. He wants it so bad, but he's a bloody soldier, not a squalling infant...never mind that he'd just been crying for his mum only a moment ago. _Never bloody mind all that..._

As if this is the permission Tommy's been waiting for, he lays himself down on his bedroll and brings Alex into his arms, ignoring the other boy's pathetic tough front as he pretends he doesn't absolutely need this right now.

"F*ck off." Alex growls through his teeth, pushing against the other boy a few times to prove to himself that he actually means it.

Tommy only wraps him up tighter in response, easily reading between the lines.

The moment he does, Alex is breaking down again, burying his face into Tommy's neck.

His source of relief wreaks of oil and smoke, but the contact numbs the pain like some incredible morphine for the soul.

Tommy shushes him a few more times, occasionally apologizing to the other soldiers on his behalf.

"Gotta relax, mate." he whispers, "I know you're tryin', but I don't want them beatin' you up anymore than they already have."

Silence falls between them again.

Alex's body still shakes every now and then from his earlier sobbing, but at least his mind is slowing down.

Oh, how he wishes for a full night's sleep, even if it has to be here in the arms of utter humiliation.

Tommy's gone perfectly still, though his grip hasn't loosened a bit.

Alex wonders if the bloke is regretting his actions, but lacks the courage to even make a joke about such a thing.

"You ever speak a word about this to anyone-"

"Not a word."

He doesn't need to look up at Tommy to know that this was definitely not something they'd ever talk about again.

Another plane flies over the base and this time Alex stays still.

Tommy pats him gently on the back; perhaps his own way of saying, 'Well done, mate. You didn't make a total arse of yourself this time 'round.'

Another involuntary tremor rolls through Alex's frame, just as Tommy shifts a bit and clears his throat.

He never once expects what comes forth from his comrade's lips in the next moment.

A song...so soft...so quiet that he knows it's only meant for his ears.

 _"Through many dangers, toils and snares, we have already come..."_

Alex bites down hard on his bottom lip. He wants to be done with the tears, but they pool and cascade down his nose anyway.

Tommy presses his cheek to his new friend's forehead, and he lets himself cry too, even whilst finishing the last of the verse.

 _"'Twas grace that brought us safe thus far, and grace will lead us home."_

"So...you really are a saint then?" Alex whispers between his sniffles, pondering what to do about this new information.

"I'm no different than anybody else," Tommy replies.

Alex isn't satisfied with such a simple response.

His parents went to church faithfully every Sunday when he was a child...never mind that the rest of the week his father beat he and his mother within an inch of their lives and told his own son what a _worthless piece of sh*t_ he was before passing out in his chair every night.

"That's the secret to your survival? Your religion?" Alex asks.

"Jesus isn't a secret, mate..." Tommy whispers back. "...And...He certainly isn't a religion-"

"Shut it, already! Both of you bloody idiots!" Someone cries in the darkness, and Tommy knows their own men will shoot them if they don't cease.

"We'll talk more tomorrow. Sleep." He says before settling in better.

Alex is more than a little furious. Waves of anger, guilt and grief make him want a better explanation and quickly, but he really has no other choice in the matter.

"Sleep." Tommy whispers once more and Alex's body complies quicker than he expects, exhausted snores soon drowning out any sounds of war lurking somewhere in the shadows of their backyard...

A/N: Thank you so much to anyone who took the time to read this humble little fic! Whether it was enjoyable for you or not, I am grateful that you did! This story will have more chapters to follow. I plan to explore what happens to Alex and Tommy through the remainder of the war, and if they do survive, how might their friendship evolve over time? Please leave a comment or review and God Bless you!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 has arrived! I listened to "Nemo Egg" from the Finding Nemo soundtrack the whole time I wrote this if that's any indication as to how this chapter will go. Feel free to listen to it as well, if that suits your fancy.

Enjoy!

...

Alex wakes to distant thunder and the wind howling through the cracks in the walls.

His shoulder aches from the position he's rested in since he dozed off hours earlier and he rolls to his back; rubbing the muscle with cracked and bloody fingers.

Gray light peeks in from the small window at the other side of the bunker and he guesses it to be around 5:00 in the morning.

Another thunder clap rolls closer this time and he startles up to a sitting position.

 _Tommy's gone._

Not even his bedroll is left behind.

Alex can't help but lay his hand on the wood floor where he had just been… _it's cold_.

His eyes search frantically around the room, finding only a few soldiers still asleep. Most have already risen for showers, breakfast and even for home.

An involuntary tremor runs down his frame as he guesses which one Tommy's left for.

Thin legs kick out of his sleeping bag as he throws the pillow behind him in a haste to climb to his feet.

A folded note appears in its place, creased with a few blackened fingerprints around the edges.

At first, he can only unfold and fold it back up again. Several times he does this for his mind to process what it might mean.

He decides not to read it, knowing that Tommy just went to get breakfast.

 _Tommy would be right back._

 _Tommy would be getting a bloody earful for making him feel so weak all the time._

His mind flashes back to being trapped in the sinking boat filled with panic, disorder and bullet holes…a gun pointed right in the French boy's face. He shudders at the idea of how close he came to having blood on his hands.

 _"It's wrong,"_ Tommy had said.

Those two words may have been the only thing that had kept him from becoming a murderer.

The paper in his hand unfolds before him in one swift motion.

He had to know.

It's a Bible verse…one that cuts straight to his heart.

 _"9_ _Two are better than one, in that their cooperative efforts yield this advantage:_ _10_ _if one of them falls, the other will help his partner up — woe to him who is alone when he falls and has no one to help him up._ _11_ _Again, if two people sleep together, they keep each other warm; but how can one person be warm by himself?_ _12_ _Moreover, an attacker may defeat someone who is alone, but two can resist him; and a three-stranded cord is not easily broken. Ecclesiastes 4:9-1"_

No information.

No goodbyes.

Just a rebuke…or maybe a warning.

Alex crumples the offensive note in his fist and takes off running in the first direction that instinct leads. There are thousands of faces to sift through…halls and buildings full of the same uniform. The weak and the strong stand and moan all around him. The maimed lie in cots while the unscathed loiter about in various clusters throughout the area.

The likelihood of seeing that idiotic face ever again drops with each minute that passes.

He clutches his stomach and eyes a nearby bin, resisting the urge to sprint over and wretch in it.

A train whistle blows just one block away and his knees buckle at the sound.

Tommy was surely on that train. He's left him here with out so much as a goodbye.

"You're blocking the aisle, soldier!" An officer yells in his face, but he doesn't hear it. It's merely wind in his ears as he catches sight of a familiar, scrawny profile some fifty feet in front of him. The air in his chest leaves instantly through his flaring nose as relief and fury wrestle together in his gut.

Doubts vanish as he approaches with each step. Tommy stands there; neat and tidy. His thick, black hair is slicked back with only hints of stubborn oil still tainting his ears and jawline.

A new trench cap sits tucked beneath his arm as he nods a few times to another soldier standing beside him.

Another clap of thunder rips across the dreary, gray sky as Tommy's eyes finally lock with his. The gentle smile he offers only serves to agitate Alex further.

Crossing the distance between them, he brings the crinkled paper directly in front of the other boy's face.

"What's this?" Alex says through his teeth.

"It's a verse from the Bible. I wanted to-"

Before Tommy can finish, Alex is throwing him hard up against the nearest wall, ignoring the urge to care when the other boy grimaces from the pain of it.

Tommy sees the Bible verse fall at their boots like a leaf from a branch; swirling away with the formation of soldiers just passing them by.

"I know where it comes from, you bleedin' idiot. What did you mean by parting with it?"

For a split second, Alex stares down at his fistfuls of Tommy's coat. He watches the way the boy's eyes squint and his skinny fingers curl up close to his face.

 _He's been beat before..._

Alex imagines hurling him down to the floor just then...beating those narrow cheek bones to a bloody pulp. He thinks of how easy it would be to take every last bit of frustration he has out on this annoying, gutsy, little beanpole.

Last night plays back her raw and intimate details, if only to stay his hand for a moment.

Tommy had held him as if he were only a little lad...had sang the same old hymn that his mother had used to shush him to sleep so many years ago.

Alex's cheeks burn and his eyes sting; they're still sore from earlier.

It's physical evidence that his pride can neither deny or erase.

Grip loosening, he stares down at his fingers as if they move on their own, yet he knows that this boy has slowly but surely weaseled his way into his heart.

He hasn't the will power to rip him out of it now...

…not like countless other lads that were just blank slates huddled together, all dying to his left and right. Their bodies always looked the same when painted with blood, no matter what features had originally distinguished them from the rest.

Why was this freckled face any different?

Acceptance hurts.

It reopens the callouses. It tears apart the thick walls of his soul in order to make room for something he's long given up on.

 _'No... no... not this again,'_ he thinks.

 _'Please, God, anything but this.'_

Once was enough. Once was more than he could bare... It's been nine months since his best friend, Henry, was killed right in front of him, just a few weeks into the war... three bullets...and blood...so much blood.

Gurgling screams ripped from his mate's lips, as raw, guttural ones poured from his own.

He imagines Tommy cold and gray just then... he can't stop himself from going there.

No doubt he would beg Tommy to stay with him, beg God to spare his life, plead on his knees for a bloody miracle...and then...just like Henry, Tommy would be ripped from his arms too.

That was simply the way of things.

This was war.

Refocusing back to the present, Tommy remains tense and ready for anything...green eyes holding nothing but hope…

 _I hope he doesn't punch me too hard..._

 _I hope he doesn't hate me..._

 _I hope we can be close mates someday..._

Alex sighs heavily, giving his comrade a good shove before backing away.

There is absolutely no way he can damage this loyal dog, especially given the evidence of the not so gentle hands of his previous owner. Was it his father...a pathetic lot of school age bastards...perhaps even the soldiers among them?

Alex eyes a few of them standing to his left and right, a quick surge of protectiveness coursing through him on its own accord.

He could almost laugh at the irony if he wasn't so intent on carrying out his current mood instead.

"I... I wasn't able to answer your questions." Tommy begins, mustering up enough courage to look his comrade in the eye. "You were sleepin' so sound. Didn't want to leave you with nothin', mate."

Alex moves in closer at this, if only to attempt to burn a hole through the other soldier. "You pity me...don't you," he whispers out of his throat like sharp daggers. "I suppose I am... more than qualified to fit the mold for your Christian duties."

Tommy shakes his head rapidly at the other boy's conclusion. "No!" he cries. "How...How after everything...after Dunkirk...with what we've been through together...how could you even think..."

 _He knows…_ Alex knows deep down that this is much more than just an act of charity...that Tommy genuinely cares about his well being; but he cannot ignore the scars that war and religion have left. He can't seem to put aside the past that's only aided in building cold, stony walls around bottled emotions...some of which have already burst from him mere hours ago.

 _'Don't let anymore out.'_ A dark voice warns. _'You'll only suffer in the end.'_

For the first time ever, Alex questions if it's actually coming from within...he's always thought so until this moment.

"You go and give me a verse like that...and then you just-"

Tommy can't help it. He pulls Alex into a bear hug that can rival men twice his size. "Hey..." he whispers.

It's the only thing that comes to mind as Alex tries to turn his face away from left to right.

He hates that his tough front has all but left him. What kind of soldier was he to weep so easily over something so simple?

"I didn't know." Tommy says, "I thought you'd want to part ways. I'm sorry, mate. I really didn't know." He pulls away to look at Alex straight on, "We're mates now, yeah?"

Alex wipes his nose with his sleeve and stares at his feet for half a moment. A sensation akin to hovering at the edge of a cliff consumes him.

"Yeah…We're mates."

...

A/N: Chapter 3 will hopefully pop up soon. Thank you to anybody that gives this fanfiction a chance. You are lovely!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello Readers. I had originally planned for this to be the final chapter, but I have now decided to split it in to two parts for the flow of the story. I have spent a rather ridiculous amount of time researching Operation Overlord, Army Medical Evacuation plans and the Normandy stories that came straight from the mouths of the soldiers that fought on the beaches some seventy-four years ago. I wanted to find anything I could to give a little bit more authenticity to the scene...that being said, I am no historian, and there could be many historical inaccuracies that I am unaware of, just to caution. ;) Once again, thank you to whoever has taken the time to sit down and read these little scenes. Though they are short and probably lacking, they have been helping me through a great deal of stress. It's been a very neat experience to write about Tommy and Alex's evolving friendship while watching and learning about World War 2.

Alright then...

On to Chapter 3!

...

 _June 6th, 1944; 7:55 am_

 _Normandy, France_

 _Five minutes from Gold Beach's shore_

"On your feet, lads! On your feet! Step lively, now!"

Alex nudges Tommy's shoulder before they both are rising to stand, gripping the edge for support as another mighty wave crashes against their soldier-packed vessel.

Four years...

...four long years since their miraculous survival at Dunkirk...since their undeniable bond was set. They've had their quarrels. None of they're journey has been painless, but it is stable...even concrete, if Alex is honest with himself, which he so rarely ever is.

"I don't suppose we'll be too keen on beach combing after all is said and done," Tommy says.  
Alex glances down at his friend's slender fingers as they grip tightly to his rifle. The bony, white knuckles are a stark contrast to the purplish-red of his hands; the salty wind has certainly taken its tole on them.  
The older boy manages a small laugh through his nose in response, ruffling Tommy's raven hair in hopes that he doesn't catch on to the constant shakes racing up his spine.

They were told nothing about the operation they were about to partake in. There was only the reassurance that, though it was a gamble, it was a gamble with the highest of odds.

A few soldiers bump hard into Tommy and the jolt of it sends him flying backwards off the barge. Alex grabs the boy's collar just before he does, feeling his heart jump into his throat.  
"Watch it!" he roars to the ones responsible, setting his jaw when they pay him no heed.  
Tommy straightens himself and dusts off his coat, moving back to the guarded position he had held originally.  
Alex looks at him with knitted brows for half a moment, opening and closing his mouth for something to say. Instead, he jerks the lanky boy to his right, well away from the edge.  
They're mere minutes from shore. Many other barges and battleships have already made their arrival. The Allies have succeeded in catching the Germans by surprise, and yet he hears the rapid spray of gunfire coming from behind the cliffs and trees. He sees the bodies of their own men scattered across the beach; this was the front lines...this was a sacrifice.

"Say a prayer for us."

Tommy's head snaps up at this, looking over his friend's weary face to see if he had actually heard it correctly.

Alex's cheeks warm as he sniffs and adjusts the pack he's carrying. "Put your eyes back in your head," he says.  
"Sorry, it's just that you've never-"  
"You've been praying over us from the very beginning. We're still alive, aren't we?" Alex kicks the side of the barge with his boot, eyes looking from Tommy, to the sea, and back to Tommy again. "God seems to hear you, mate."  
"He would hear you as well if-"  
"Don't start."  
Tommy grinds his teeth with eyes burning, knowing he must restrain himself from starting, yet another, lost argument. Instead he closes his eyes and prays quietly for angels to guard them and for safe passage across the battlefield. He leaves out the request for Alex's salvation. He's already pleaded countless times on his behalf, the last prayer being right before they had boarded the barge. It was out of his hands. It had never been in his hands to begin with...

The barge jerks them back and forth as they run aground. Officers begin unloading soldier after soldier, shouting out instructions as they do.  
This is it; to whatever end.  
They are now ten men from running out on to that sand and Alex grips tightly to Tommy's neck as they're being forced to shuffle forward. "You stick close, do you understand me?" His harsh tone reminds Tommy of the terrified stranger Alex once was before they were mates. He knows the words are more of a threat than an order. _Don't die or I'll kill you, myself._ Isn't that what he really means to say?  
Tommy can only nod as an officer pulls him on to the ramp. His thin legs run down on instinct alone as he keeps his eyes straight ahead.  
"You see that split in the cliff? Straight ahead to your right!" Alex yells as the first bullets hit directly between them. "Run to that! Don't stop, Tommy. Run!"  
More bullets spray into the sand, many of them ricocheting off the metal debris from the fallen planes and landing vessels. The moment Tommy sees a spitfire wing lying propped up in the sand, he's stumbling towards it. Feeling something thud hard into his uniform, he wonders if he's bleeding out. The mixture of adrenaline and shock have the potential to mask any pain and that fact alone has him trembling from head to toe.  
Falling to his knees behind the wing, he looks down at his hands; they've gone completely numb.  
"Not there, Tommy!" Alex shouts, coming alongside his friend as another bullet pings off the makeshift shelter. "We can't stay here!"  
It's this moment that Alex watches all the color drain from Tommy's face...the way he's slumping forward like a tattered, old rag doll.  
"They shot me," Tommy breathes out, staring numbly down at his chest. "Alex, I think..."  
"Hang on. Hang on, mate," Alex interrupts, hands flying to the buttons on Tommy's wool jacket and stripping open the other two layers to fully examine his friend. His fingers climb towards the boy's left shoulder, unable to prevent the gasp that escapes his lips. A warm liquid pools out and onto his skin and when he pulls his hand away, its painted scarlet.  
Tommy falters backward against the wing. A hundred thoughts fly straight to his head, but Alex intercepts them all.

"Tom...look at me," he says, grabbing the other boy's face and forcing him to gaze upwards. "The bullet's missed your heart. It's more towards your arm, alright?"  
He's ripping his own med kit out of his pack before he's even formed a plan, shakily sifting through bandages, cotton and bottles of iodine. "I just have to stop the bleeding...and get us out of here." He doesn't tell Tommy that the reassurance is for himself.  
A bomb shakes the ground as it lands a few yards away. The distant screams that follow make Alex want to vomit, but he fights the urge if only for the other boy's sake.  
His old friend, Henry haunts him just then, as if to twist the knife a little deeper.  
 _"You knew this was unavoidable,"_ an invisible foe whispers. _"First your mother, then Henry, and now this one too."_  
"Shut your bloody mouth." Alex growls.  
Tommy's eyes knit together in confusion, knowing he hasn't spoken a word in the past minute or so. Something presses directly on to his wound and he's crying out before he understands what is happening.  
"I know, mate," he hears Alex say as he watches stars explode across his vision. He feels the older boy grab his own hand and plant it firmly over the bandage to apply pressure until he's told otherwise.  
"Blast, I need more gauze," Alex says, scanning the beach for anything and everything that would suffice. He spots a med kit on the back of a dead soldier, just a stone's throw away and begins crawling towards it.  
Another bomb explodes close enough to feel sand and debris fall like balls of hail onto his arms and legs; Alex only pauses long enough to make sure he's still in one piece before he reaches the medical supplies he needs. He's grateful the corpse is facing down in the sand so he doesn't have to focus on their cold, lifeless eyes.  
A line of gunfire hits just out of range before he hears Tommy screaming his name. Whirling around, Alex spots another soldier manhandling the injured boy away from the shelter of the wing. "There's only room for one!" the man bellows into Tommy's face, falling on top of him like a rabid dog as the boy struggles to stay put. "You're shot up anyways! I gotta get home, mate!"  
"Get off him!" Alex roars, throwing his arms around the raving soldier and ripping him off with a madness that could easily rival the larger man. He throws punch after punch to the attacker's face, unable to stop himself until the man is begging him to do so.

"You call yourself a soldier, you gutless scum!?" He says, grabbing the man's coat collar and shaking him violently.  
"Better him than me!"  
Alex stops, completely frozen, as the words hit his ears. For a moment he can do nothing but listen to his own voice echoing from the waves of the past; it's as if he's holding up a mirror instead of a man. If he makes it through this hellish day, he's absolutely sure that he'll never forget this shame while looking a coward straight in the eye.  
The manic soldier takes the opportunity to bolt free, scrambling out of sight before he takes anymore damage to the face.  
When Alex finally pulls himself back to the present, Tommy's staring up at him from where he lies in the sand, hand still keeping pressure on his wound. He manages a single nod as his bloody fingers itch to bring comfort in a time when words cannot.  
Alex hates that Tommy's concerned for him while lying in such a critical state.  
Long eyelashes flutter closed as the smaller boy's arms go limp onto the sand.  
"No-no-no-no, Tom. Don't you dare. Don't you dare," Alex says.  
He slaps Tommy's freckled cheekbones and shakes him multiple times, only ceasing when he's sure there's no rousing his comrade. Quickly wrapping up the wound, he pulls the frail boy onto his back. Tommy's head lulls side to side on Alex's shoulder and it unnerves him.  
"You stay with me!" he says, shifting his charge one more time before sprinting towards the safety of the cliffs.  
"I have something...to tell you," he pants out, running through cloud after cloud of dense and toxic smoke. "I was...saving it for later...but you always have been one to...force me into talking...I think your methods are taking it just a bit too far today, aye?"  
Tommy neither replies or gestures that he's even listening as Alex senses his burden increase with each and every step he takes.  
"Minefield!"  
The cry of warning is the last thing he hears...Tommy tucked under him in the last thing he sees...Fire and shrapnel searing his back is the last thing he feels...before giving himself over to the numbing black.

...

A/N: The final chapter is soon to come. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N:The final chapter...This one was a bit emotional for me, to be honest. I worked at a retirement home, about ten years ago and it was an absolute joy to be there. I got to experience so many different people and walks of life, but the veterans were always the closest to my heart. I had no idea when I started writing this, that such a time would be useful for moving the story along. In doing my research and making sure my times were right, I honestly was grieved to discover that almost all of our men and women from the WW2 era had been deceased or would be in a handful of years. I was shocked by the fact that being away from that retirement place for such a short time meant it was most likely that all my war veterans were gone by now. I hope this chapter conveys only the highest respect and love to those soldiers and nurses who sacrificed their very lives to save others. I will always hold a place for them in my heart._

 _On a different note, the timelines here are a bit jumpy, so pay attention to lines, spaces and dates. I chose to bounce around because of the flow of the story, but I don't want to create any confusion._

Chapter 4

...

 _A Nurses Prayer_

 _Give to my heart, Lord..._

 _compassion and understanding._

 _Give to my hands,_

 _skill and tenderness._

 _Give to my ears_

 _the ability to listen._

 _Give to my lips_

 _words of comfort._

 _Give to me, Lord..._

 _strength for this selfless service_

 _and enable me to give hope_

 _to those I am called to serve._

 _-Anonymous Prayer from WW2_

The Westminster Chimes resonate from within the case of an old grandfather clock. Six gongs promptly follow as Alex startles awake in a tattered, leather recliner; his head throbs and lungs wheeze from the hellish nightmare he's just endured. Some images from the war refuse to fade, no matter how hard one tries to blot them out. He absently rubs both of his thumbs and index fingers together, taking in the fact that they're no longer stained with blood... that they now belong to an eighty-nine-year-old man.

Dunkirk had lost most of its grip clear back in the seventies. He still remembers the final traumatic episode right before his first grandchild was born. Perhaps the new blessing was enough to heal and reset what had been damaged for so many years. Even so, he's never been able to fully shake Normandy. It lies in wait like a venomous snake for more chances to strike and torment. He's let his guard down in the past few months, and now he's paying for it. If Tommy could see him now, he would most certainly scold him for not seeking out a bit of help; a prayer or two would've undoubtedly followed. Alex turns slowly to study the framed black and white photograph hanging up to his left. He and his best mate stand there together in their uniforms with their bikes against a brick wall. He can't recall the name of the train station anymore, but he remembers it was taken only a few days after the miraculous evacuation...just hours before being shipped off again.

Tommy wears a simple smile, a stark contrast to the fierce and steely expression of the young man beside him. It was only a mask... a fragile mask that had begun cracking away the moment a stranger's hand had bravely reached out to snatch him up from the jaws of death.

Now, his tired eyes catch the early light of dawn through the good-sized window on the other side of his flat. Vera Lynn's timeless voice sings a familiar wartime tune on the flashy new device his daughter's just set up for him the night before. The same song continues playing on in an endless loop and he hasn't the faintest clue on how to shut it off. He's already made dozens of attempts the night before; only giving up when his vision blurred to such an extent that even the glasses on the tip of his nose were of no use.

 _~We'll meet again_

 _Don't know where_

 _Don't know when_

 _But I know we'll meet again some sunny day_

 _Keep smiling through_

 _Just like you always do_

 _'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away~_

His weathered hand reaches up to adjust the hearing aid whistling just outside of his ear, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room for inspiring such painful memories. After a minute of fiddling, the shrill sound ceases and it's immediately replaced with a quiet sigh. The veteran's chin gradually droops to his chest from the effort, surrendering to snores in no time at all.

He doesn't hear the first few knocks on the door, and by the tenth, a short and lively nurse is waltzing into the flat, bustling about like a worker bee, throwing out garbage, placing clothes in the hamper and putting the kettle on before coming to sit at his side.

"Poor man," she whispers, turning off the looped music and setting it next to a basket of dusty TV remotes that sit at his feet.

Alex stirs when he feels her hand tap a bony knee; smiling warmly when he sees her familiar features. Her gentle presence banishes the aches he feels, both inside and out.

"My angel's come to see me." he says, leaning over to give her nose a gentle tap.

"How's my lovey this mornin'?" she replies before planting a kiss on his snow-white hair. They share a moment of small talk and playful banter before the woman brings her tote filled with various pills and treatments up to her lap. Only, she doesn't follow through with the routine, as per normal…but, instead, places both of her elbows onto the box, pressing her hands to her cheeks. Alex laughs as she bats her long eyelashes, knowing exactly why she's come to see him at such an early hour.

"Perhaps you lot would prefer I moved my things into his room." he says. It's said in jest, but by her expression, Alex wonders if she'll actually take him up on the offer.

"I know; I'm sorry, Alex. If I had any other options...but, you're truly the only thing that calms him down."

"He needs me," Alex replies, rising slowly from the chair as the nurse assists him with his gray knit cardigan.

"Yes, he does," she says, fetching the walker behind the chair and wheeling it directly in front of him.

The kettle screams to be acknowledged on the other side of the wall just then and the elderly man reaches for the little white teacup he's used the night before; It still sits upon the end table beside him. "My payment, if you please, m'lady."

The nurse smiles and bows as she takes hold of it. "Of course, my good sir!" she replies, turning about face towards the assorted boxes of tea sitting on the counter. She unwraps one and lets it steep in the, now, filled teacup and sets it carefully on the seat of the walker, making sure it doesn't slide around. Taking only another minute for socks and shoes, they set off together on what was becoming, a more and more frequent endeavor.

Coming to the aid of a friend was a privilege; Alex never once complains about the fact that he's become someone else's stability in the short time spent in a care home, nestled away in the countryside.

That's not what makes walking down halls of vintage floral wallpaper and burgundy carpet feel weightier than any march to war he's ever faced...It isn't why he tucks the sadness away in a back pocket for another time...why his hands are trembling harder than usual as they grip the handles of the walker.

 _No..._

What makes this daily task so incredibly gut wrenching is the love he carries for a brother in arms. A brother whose soul was undeniably knit to his nearly seventy years ago.

He's only a few feet from their destination when he hears the shouts. They're angrier than anything and Alex relaxes a bit. Anger could be soothed...anger didn't make him want to weep and beg his friend to come back to him. It didn't make him wish that he could carry it all, the pain...confusion...the terror...

"Tom? I've brought someone to visit you," the nurse says after lightly tapping on the door.

There are four assistants standing near the entrance, all of them elated to see that Alex has finally arrived. He shakes his head at such a helpless lot before focusing all of his attention to the fragile creature on the hospital bed. "Bit early for a row, isn't it, Tommy boy?"

His friend's eyes finally meet his and Alex knows there's no notes of recognition in them. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes; other times he remains only a stranger in the room. Regardless, the other man always benefits from the visit...as do any other parties involved.

Tommy's raven black hair has long been replaced by a few wispy grays on a balding head. Only his moss colored eyes and the birthmark on the right side of his chin remain unaffected by time. "They're tryin' to take my food, mate," he says, "I told 'em I'm not finished with it yet, but they're just plannin' to let me...let me starve in here, I s'ppose."

A tray of last night's dinner sits atop his legs. Two pieces of soggy, breaded fish lay on a plate, only a bite taken out of each. The shriveled chips remain as well, scattered from having been examined, but otherwise untouched.

Pushing aside dismal observations, Alex tries a more direct approach this morning. He takes a seat at his companion's bedside, managing to sidestep the conflict entirely. "Oi...It's your...ol' chum, Alex...Remember?" he says with a groan as his body settles into the chair.

Intuition pays off as the other man searches over the face that stares at him so attentively. Alex imagines young Tommy in that moment...tearing curtains off the very windows of his soul to peer up into bright sunlight. It is the only way he can describe the emotion happening before his eyes.

"Alex? You've grown so old," Tommy says, reaching a wrinkled, trembling hand out.

Alex chuckles and grasps it in his own, patting it affectionately and laying it back down on the blanket. "Best look in the mirror, mate. At least I've still kept my teeth."

A few snickers escape the workers and Alex winks at them, passing the dirty tray to the one standing an arm's length away, but keeping his eyes fixed on Tommy. It doesn't faze the other man in the slightest and he sits up to show off his companion.

"Do you know...this man was with me through the entire war?" he rasps out. Alex stares at the floor as the youngsters don over-exaggerated expressions of curiosity and amazement. It really shouldn't matter that he's lost count of how many times their story has been shared. Why does he care as long as Tommy's smiling...as long as the bloke feels safe and secure? At the very least, he should be grateful that his friend was not completely lost to him... _yet_.

"...and then I reached my hand out, cause I seen him struggling in the water, see?" Tommy carries on, "The ship would've...squished his guts all over the mole...but I...I..."

Alex's brow furrows when the story comes to a halt; grabbing for the other man's hand when he hears the first sniffle. Emotional highs and lows were a normal part of life with dementia, but this was one of Tommy's favorite things to share. 'The beginning of a lifelong brotherhood' he used to say. What was going on in that silly ol' noggin of his?

"You saved me," Alex says, hoping that by doing so, his companion could reset and continue on in the telling.

Tommy's bottom lip quivers as a tissue box is laid in his lap. He only manages to blow his nose before he's quietly weeping into his hands.

"Tom, what's all this now? Something's got you all worked up," Alex says, rubbing small circles over his friend's back, hating that he feels every part of the man's spine through the hospital gown.

"Life… is truly but a breath," Tommy replies. "I'm...I'm worried about you, mate."

"Me? You're worried for me?"

Alex tries to wrap his head around such information before something finally clicks. He was in far better shape physically and mentally than the one concerned...but now he understands that this has nothing to do with either.

Tommy's not looking at the 'hear and now'...truthfully, he never has.

 _Have you really forgotten such a thing?_

"Well then..." Alex says after a drawn-out pause. "Fancy a story? I should think that by the end of it, you'll not be frettin' anymore."

Tommy nods and sniffs a few more times, hope dancing across his features as he settles in like an eager child about to read a bedtime fairy tale.

None of the staff members budge from where they stand and Alex isn't sure why he's suddenly so shy about it. At his age, there was nothing to blush over anymore...nothing to keep inside. None the less his cheeks warm as he works out where to begin. "Don't you young people have a job to do?" he asks them.

"We're on break," a cheeky tween replies, grinning widely from ear to ear as she chews on a piece of gum. Everyone laughs as the veteran rolls his eyes and waves them off; all five of them remain to hear a piece of history...a bit of meaning to keep close in their hearts.

"Do you not recall anything from Normandy?" Alex asks his companion, not surprised to see the man shake his head back and forth.

 _No, I don't suppose you would..._

"There was a time when we were done for...you and I... An explosion on the beach, just near the cliffs...You'd just been shot right off the barge... I had to carry you on my back..."

...

 _Sixty-Five Years Earlier..._

"This one's gone. Mark the time and date."

"I need more room, soldier. Move the body to the morgue and prepare the bed for another patient!"

"You there! Run and fetch us some more blankets...keep the stable ones warm before the shock kills them off!"

Alex's green eyes are barely opening when he hears the voices hovering above and around him. They are male...female...quiet and harsh. Screams echo off tunneled walls as metal objects clink together and feet run about until every sound blends together to make one hair-raising symphony.

" If you can hear me, love, we're keeping you on your side so that you can breathe a bit better. Your back's been badly burned, but you're gonna be alright."

Alex doesn't realize the reassurance is for him until he feels the many gloved hands gripping his arms and legs in place. A cold tube brushes across his bare chest, and he coughs hard onto the sheet beneath him, blood sputtering from his lips as he does.

There are three nurses standing in front of his view, their red crosses a stark contrast to the ivory aprons they're wearing.

" I said clear this bed! Get him out of here, immediately!"

Alex fixes his gaze on the white sheet behind his caretakers then. It's only after he notices a lanky body veiled beneath it that he's choking on air.

"Tommy?" his voice squeaks, attempting to reach out for what is directly in front of him. "...Tom!?"

Two men in uniform shuffle over to dump the limp and scrawny form up and onto a gurney before quickly carrying it out of sight. There are no explanations...no parting words...not even a bloody farewell and with this...Alex loses it.

"Stop! Stop! Oh, God! Please, Please, no!" He instinctively rocks forward, nearly falling off the bed as strangers swoop over in a feeble attempt to restrain and calm.

"Hold onto him! Keep him in place or he'll damage himself further. I need another 1.5 cc of morphine over here!" some assistant shouts over the guttural howls of her patient.

"God, have mercy. Was that his mate?" another whispers, tears springing to her eyes when a medic nods from the other side of the bed.

The nurses exchange glances with the other staff involved, all of them cut to the heart for, yet another, soldier going mad on the table. All of them wonder the same thing. How long would the horrors of war last? How long would they have to endure seeing their countrymen lie here like wretched infants without a hope?

"Bring him back! Bring him back!" Alex continues to beg deliriously as he watches them strip the bloody sheets off from where Tommy had just been, replacing them with clean ones for the next incoming casualty.

"What's happened? Stop! He already has morphine running through his system! Are you planning to kill him off?" a field nurse says just then. She grabs her apron and ties it back in under a second, rushing over to assess the situation. She kicks herself for having gone to the loo and grabbing a few crackers from the galley. Her patients always suffered from the necessary breaks, thus why they were so far and in between.

She holds a special place in her heart for this one is particular...not because he's handsome, mysterious or pitiful...as were the usual reasons a soldier could find favor in a nurse's eye. It's the story the army surgeon had shared upon their arrival that causes fierce loyalty to manifest itself. _"If you're able...keep these two together. We found this one on top of the other, trying to save the other boy's life...only time will tell if he succeeded,"_ the man had said.

There had been no time to scream...no time to cry when she had seen the face of her baby brother lying lifeless with a bullet through his chest. There was only shock and the mechanical feeling in her arms and legs as she had to cut ruthlessly through burnt uniforms with a pair of dull scissors, staving off panic for when she could do no more for the sibling she adored and the stranger who had selflessly kept him alive. She could never hope to repay him...the sacrifice was beyond price. Instead, she would throw her very life into tending to him. She would wash the dirt from his skin, dress the wounds that covered his body and feed his empty stomach until he came back to the land of the living so that he could personally hear the gratitude pour from her lips.

"They just took his mate's body," a young volunteer says, making her snap from her thoughts.

"What!?... For goodness sake! His mate's the one on the left!" she shouts, hastily weaving her way around the others and climbing onto the bed. She kneels just behind Alex to hold him steady and pin his arms to his chest, all while keeping her knees from touching the bandaged burns on his back.

"Listen to me, love. I know...I know, you've just had quite a fright...but, I promise you, Tommy's still here," she says, running her fingers through his matted, brown hair. "He's safe...You're safe."

Tommy had never mentioned this boy in his letters; seeing the level of grief bleeding out of him, makes her question why she doesn't know who he is. It makes her want to understand the depth of their friendship...but then again, her brother had always kept quiet on the details of war life...choosing to speak of his longing for home and the memories they share rather than the hell he was facing.

Alex listens to the woman's words; he wants to believe what he hears, but he's lost everything one too many times. The familiar agony tells him this is permanent...that he was a fool to ever hope again.

"I was gonna tell him I got saved on Saturday," he sobs, watching someone else mop up blood from the floor around the empty space. "I wanted him to take me to that church he's always talkin' about."

"He will, sweetheart. He will..." The field nurse glances behind her at the black-haired boy sleeping next to them, who still lies unconscious and wrapped up in wool to his ears.

"Can we...transfer this lad over to this bed?" she asks, stopping a few medics passing by and gesturing to the patient behind her. When they give her odd looks, she points sharply to the bed in front of her. "He needs to see that his friend is alive. I can't move him from this spot, now, if you please, gentlemen; have some bloody compassion!"

The medics don't hesitate at the explanation, more due to shouted orders than empathy.

Alex stares at the messy tufts of ebony laid down on the pillow, followed by Tommy's sleeping face as a medic tucks the wool blanket under his chin, securing the bottle of blood plasma up and out of the way.

"There you are, darling," the field nurse whispers. "See, he's right here, next to you."

Alex melts beneath her grip; silent sobs wrack his shoulders as a paralyzing relief sets inhis muscles. At first, he can't speak; too shaken from the fit and spooked nerves. But, when he finally does, there hints of amusement in his tone. "I would've...cursed at him something fierce... a week ago..." he says, sucking in sharp, little breaths as he watches the even rise and fall of his comrade's chest. It's the proof he needs...evidence that Tommy was no longer a corpse being tossed in a bag somewhere; unseen.

"...but, I'm working on that."

Tommy's sister holds back a smile, letting go of the boy, but unable to pull her hand from his hair just yet. "You need to _work_ on resting now." she orders. Picking up a clean rag, she wipes the blood from his lips and dabs at his cheeks, making a mental note to listen to his lungs again once he's slept for a bit.

Alex wants to thank her, but his throat feels like it's on fire from the smoke and the screaming. His eyes won't stay open another moment so he settles with a whispered, "Yes, ma'am," before succumbing to the first peaceful sleep he's had in five years.

...

"I remember," Tommy says suddenly with tears in his eyes. "You ended up marrying my sister after that...we became brothers, you and I."

Alex grins at this, grabbing the other man's face and planting a big kiss on his bald head. "Not just in marriage, ol'chap," he says with a laugh.

"Eternal brothers," Tommy finishes for him, his face awash in joy-filled weeping as some of the memories flow back to his mind like a babbling brook. "God be praised."

Alex pulls a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket; its edges dark and smudged from oil and age. Taking great care to open it without bringing further damage, he lays it on Tommy's lap, waiting for the man to understand its value.

He watches hands gently pick up the item, shaking profusely as his friend recalls what he's holding. "You kept it?" he asks. It's the very same verse Tommy had left under Alex's pillow near the beginning of the war, the cursive writing has faded on the stationary, but it's still bold enough to read off the page. "All these years..."

"You rescued me from the beaches...you let me stay by your side during the war, introduced me to your beautiful sister and even let me marry her," Alex's eyebrows bob up and down at this, causing giggles from a few of the ladies that continue to listen on in fascination. "...and you absolutely led me to the Lord, Tom."

Tommy buries his face in the crook of his arm, unable to respond as he lies back against the pillows, feeling Alex run a thumb across his free hand.

"Now...isn't it high time you let someone bless you for a change, mate? We aren't getting any younger."

Truth be told, there isn't a dry eye in the room at this moment. Not one person is left untouched by such pure and unabashed love. It is something they have only read about on the news...a brief article seen while scrolling on the internet. None of it holds a candle to the real thing...to what they're experiencing right before their eyes.

 _"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound...that saved a wretch like me..."_

Alex's voice rasps out the lyrics of the old hymn with a bit of effort, but he's sung it to Tommy every day since they've arrived in this home, and it seems to be the appropriate time for such a thing. Tommy helps him finish the last part of the verse, both of them traveling far off to another time...another place only they can go.

At first, a few of the observers look down out of respect, feeling the intimate moment wasn't meant for them, like they had intruded on a private prayer, but as the first verse ends, Alex turns to them and gestures a conductors wave with his arms and soon everyone sings out the hymn with the enthusiasm of a professional church choir. It doesn't matter that half of them are off key...or that there are verses messed up and out of order, because the look on old Tommy's face as he listens to a song that has more meaning today than it ever has in his entire life is something priceless and forever cherished to those that stand around him.

In five short years, these two men, who shared an unbreakable bond ordained from the beginning of time, would both be only a memory here on the earth, forever in the hearts of those who were blessed enough to hear their story. There are still times when Alex's favorite caretaker stops to study the old photograph of the war buddies now displayed in the care home's entryway. She likes to imagine their reunion in heaven. Would Alex have run to embrace Tommy, scolding him and laughing about such a late arrival? Would Tommy have wept like he always had in his final days here? Did they laugh and dance together as they entered into the joys of the Lord? What was it like to come face to face with Jesus himself?

One thing was absolutely certain. Those two would never hurt again...forever free in the arms of their savior. They had fought the good fight... both the earthly war and the one in spirit...They would surely rest in peace for all eternity, safe and secure forever and ever...

...

...

General Hospital, England 1944

"Thank you, Lord...for bringing him into my life...he helped me heal...he...led me to you...so please...have mercy on him...and... fix him for me...please..."

Tommy hears the prayer, but the voice doesn't match. His brow twitches as he works hard at opening his eyes for the first time in days. When he finally manages to turn his head towards the sound, he sees Alex sitting with his face pointed downward, nose touching the mattress, one of his hands rests upon Tommy's chest, but the movement alerts him to his friend's consciousness and he recoils it back into his lap. "Tom?..Tommy?" Alex leans in closer, setting a hand on the top of the other boy's head.

"You were praying for me." Tommy whispers, eyebrows furrowed as he fights the grogginess. "Am I dreaming?"

"No."

"Am I dead?"

"No, you're not dead...cheeky blighter." Alex sniffs in amusement as his friend tries to solve the puzzle in such a state. "Don't think too hard, burn a hole through that noggin of yours."

Tommy continues to stare back at his friend, neither of them sure on what to say at the moment.

Alex sits back and puts his hands behind his head, stretching his muscles and wincing from the pain of it. His knee bobs speedily up and down as he looks at his palms like they're suddenly fascinating.

"I had planned to tell you after the mission was over," he begins at last, occasionally making eye contact with the other boy. "I thought, maybe, if you had known beforehand...that you'd think something daft, like...'my work's done here' and... I don't know...give up your life."

A tear rolls down Tommy's cheek and onto the pillow as he listens, his face stoic though his heart pounds hard in his chest.

"But…when I woke up...and you weren't there...I thought I'd lost you...and that-" Alex stops to collect himself, scratching beneath his chin and clearing his throat. He exhales slowly through his lips and tries again, hoping he could keep it together. "...I was so...scared...And I just kept thinking...Why, God?... Why?"

Alex growls as his eyes and nose leak on their own accord. He may as well finish his thoughts with reckless abandonment at this point. Pride? Was there ever such a thing before he had encountered this weaselly little scoundrel?

"Well...there it is, I s'ppose," he continues. "You're not dead...and now...I can finally tell you that I... have truly been...born again."

"Alex."

"What?"

Tommy raises his arm out and Alex doesn't hesitate to hug the boy, thankful that he didn't have to go on in his ramblings any more since he's never been good with words anyway.

"Thank God." Tommy murmurs, pulling away and wiping his swollen eyes. "Eternal brothers, mate...you know, you're actually stuck with me forever now." He laughs from deep within his frame and Alex soon finds himself joining in, shaking his head and throwing up his hands in mock horror. "Oh my God, what have I signed up for!?" he cries out.

"Forever AND ever...that's what it says, I'm afraid."

"Done." Alex replies, sighing heavily and raking his hands through his hair.

Tommy chuckles a bit more before glancing around the room, eyes searching for something unseen. "Did my pocket Bible survive?" he asks.

Alex pulls the sought-after item out from a bag hanging up by the head board, dusting it off before giving it to the other soldier.

Tommy pulls it to his chest and pauses there a moment. Alex wonders whether he's praying or simply pleased that the Holy book is back in his possession. Whatever the case, he eventually opens it up in search for a passage, and when it gets too exhausting, his arms limply bring it to Alex, hoping the other bloke will find it for him.

"I don't know if I..." Alex says.

"Gotta start somewhere, mate."

The older boy groans and Tommy suppresses a laugh, helping him get to the verse he wants as best he can.

"Got it!" Alex says, quite pleased with his efforts.

"Good. Now, read it out loud." Tommy replies, smiling when his friend curls up his lip at the notion. "Go on then. Off you go!"

After some more grumbling and coaxing, Alex caves to reading the words, setting it down on the bed so that Tommy can read it too.

"I have fought a good fight...I have finished my course...I have kept the faith...Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing. 2 Timothy 4:7-8 "

Alex closes the Bible as he finishes the last line, taking in what he's just read. "Our fight's just begun," he says matter of fact. But there's no notes of anxiety in his words. Perfect peace rests upon his bandaged shoulders. For him, the new feeling is nothing short of miraculous.

Tommy sinks back onto his pillow, closing his eyes and nodding in agreement.

"Alex?" he asks.

"Tom?" Alex replies.

"If ever we should make it to be a couple of old geezers...you and I... I mean, if we get to survive this war...find ourselves a couple of wives and live out even a hint of normalcy...let's not part ways."

"No. Not ever, God willing." Alex smiles and ruffles his comrade's hair.

Tommy's eyes remain closed but he smiles right back, falling asleep to Alex's voice as he shares what's happened between the beaches and the transport home, while a gentle breeze flows in through an open window and the gulls call from the not too distant shore.

...

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this story! It's been awhile since I've completed something and I've had so much fun writing it.. Let me know what you think and God Bless you!


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